


The Iron Throne

by purple01_prose



Series: aegis-verse [2]
Category: Batgirl (Comics), Journey into Mystery, Thor (Comics)
Genre: Game of Thrones - Freeform, Gen, Humor, slight crossover, this does not come with joffrey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple01_prose/pseuds/purple01_prose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Stephanie, Hela, and a chair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Iron Throne

Steph shifts from foot to foot outside the All-Mother’s audience chamber. Angry Frost Giants exit, loudly vowing revenge (oh yeah right) against the Fire Giants, and then the cute guard whose name he refuses to give her (she wonders if she should be offended) gestures her inside.

 

Gaea is cooing to her child, Freyja is pinching the bridge of her nose, and Iðunn is tossing an apple from hand to hand.

 

“It is good to see you up and awake,” Iðunn greets, making the apple disappear with a flicker of her hands.

 

Steph shrugs, putting her hands in her pockets. “It’s good to _be_ up.”

 

“We were informed that this has to do with the boon we have granted you in recompense for defending Asgardia,” Freyja says crisply, sitting upright.

 

“Oh yeah, it is,” she assures the All-Mother. From her pocket, she pulls out a badly-printed page order, handing it to Freyja. “I would like this as recompense.”

 

Freyja takes it, surveying it. “I did not know that it would fit in Loki’s tower.”

 

“Oh no, that’s not just it. I want it sent to Hel, order to Hela.”

 

Everyone _stops_ and stares. Steph looks right back. “Look, she gave me a crucial piece of evidence against Tanarus, which was used in the service of Asgardia,” see, she can use fancy political words, “and I know she shares an enjoyment of that sort of thing, and I want to make her laugh.”

 

“Make her laugh,” Freyja repeats. “Yes, because making the goddess of the dead laugh is one of our top priorities.”

 

“It’s not one of yours,” Steph says patiently, “and that’s fine, because you have major issues to attend to. But this would probably work towards paying the interest on my own classified favor to her. So, one of my priorities is making her laugh. She’s the goddess of the dead. How many laughs can you get from that?”

 

“The girl raises a fair point,” Gaea says smoothly, rising to stand next to Freyja, who looks deeply unamused. “And since this will be a personal missive, from Lady Stephanie to Lady Hela, our involvement will be minimal. I believe Lady Stephanie is just asking us to purchase this...item and ensure its transport.”

 

“Exactly,” Steph says cheerfully. “And you can consider your debt to me paid.”

 

“You know, most mortals would jump at the chance at having the All-Mother owe them,” Iðunn says thoughtfully. “They would ask for something like, oh, one of my apples or perhaps an enchanted weapon or a night with Freyja.”

 

Freyja glares at Iðunn, who ignores her.

 

Steph raises and lowers her left shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not most people. I don’t really want immortality, and I’m happy with what weapons I have. And Lady Freyja, you’re lovely, but you’re not exactly my type.” Okay, Kara had been lovely in all the right ways, but Freyja exudes sheer power in a way Kara...didn’t.

 

And Steph isn’t attracted to power.

 

Gaea giggles when Freyja’s face pinches. “So,” Freyja speaks over her giggling—comrades? Sisters? Ugh, what is the proper Asgardian term for the three women who comprise the All-Mother?—while leveling a _look_ at Steph. “So, you would rather the All-Mother purchase a chair for you and send it with someone who can walk between the worlds to the goddess of the dead rather than bargain for a golden apple of immortality.”

 

“Yep,” Steph says cheerfully, but she’s edgy, now. No, she does not want immortality, thankyouverymuch.

 

“Very well,” Freyja sighs, leaning back in her chair. “It is done.”

 

\--

 

Daimon Hellstrom is no one’s messenger.

 

...until the All-Mother of Asgardia summons you and promises weighty payment.

 

He stares at the box that he must somehow transport to Hel and back at Freyja. “I’m sorry, _what_ is this?”

 

“That is none of your concern,” Gaea says airily, feeding her child. He averts his gaze.

 

“It is a gift from the Lady Stephanie to Lady Hela,” Iðunn explains, counting out his payment.

 

“Who is Lady Stephanie?” He knows who Hela is, because _duh_ , but ‘Stephanie’ isn’t exactly an Asgardian name.

 

“She is the mortal ambassador to Asgardia,” Freyja tells him in the tone that says, ‘Lady Stephanie is a _trial_.’ “She owes Lady Hela an unknown debt, and she is using this item as interest.

 

“I would probably appreciate that more if I _knew what it was_ ,” he snaps, feeling in his pockets for chalk for the teleportation spell.

 

“That is none of your concern,” Freyja raps out.

 

“I need to know the dimensions so I can transport it,” he retorts, starting to draw out the necessary symbols in their audience chamber. Screw them.

 

“Is not the box enough?” Iðunn inquires, watching him. There’s a look in her eyes that makes him feel like prey.

 

Understandably, this makes him angry.

 

“If this is a personal missive to Lady Hela,” he starts, and Freyja sighs, pointing out the open window.

 

“I believe Lady Stephanie is sparring with Lady Sif in the courtyard today. Do you need a look at her, or ask her what her item is? The item is large and bulky and weighs. Surely that is enough.”

 

And okay, it _is_ enough, but he really wants to know what item is so important that it could be sent from a mortal (seriously, a _human_ has a debt to Hela and is still alive. _What?_ ) to the goddess of the dead, circa the All-Mother of Asgardia.

 

So he looks out the window. Sue him.

 

The window is far enough up that all he sees is the red blur that’s Sif and a blonde one—and of course the girl would be blonde, of _course_ —sparring down in the courtyard.

 

He kind of wants to meet her, if she sets Freyja’s teeth on edge like this.

 

“Do you have all you need?” Iðunn asks, drifting next to him. There’s something about Iðunn that reminds him of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl that humans are so fond of, but Iðunn is definitely not Zooey Deschanel.

 

“Yes, I do,” he says, grumpy, turning back to the teleportation spells. The All-Mother watches him closely as he finishes the symbols, lifting the box by magic and standing in the middle of the circle. He slams down the butt of his staff and he feels the hook under his navel (Harry Potter could be hokey at times, but they definitely got some things right) and he lands in a cloud of fire and brimstone in the middle of Hela’s audience chamber.

 

Luckily, it’s empty of everyone except Hela and her new general. Daimon forgets his name.

 

“Hellstrom?” Hela asks, arching a brow. “What is this?”

 

“Special delivery,” he grumps, laying the package down and offering her the envelope that has her name on it. “From one Stephanie to you.”

 

“Lady Stephanie?” the general looks from the box to Hela. “What is this?”

 

Hela’s ripping into the note, covering her mouth with her hand as her eyes dance. “Oh Tyr,” she says stiffly, _clearly_ fighting back laughter. “I think you’ll see.”

 

So the guy’s name is Tyr. Okay. Good for him.

 

She walks past Daimon, opening the box carefully, and in the box is a—

 

Well, Daimon’s not exactly sure how to describe it.

 

It’s a chair—but it’s a _huge_ chair, made out of half-melted swords and stuff. There’s a yellow Post-It on the seat, and when Hela reads it, she collapses on the seat in hysterics. It lightens the whole room, and Tyr looks half turned on, half terrified.

 

Daimon kind of hates his life.

 

“What is it?” he asks when Hela subsides, brushing away a stray tear.

 

“Oh, Lady Stephanie is aware that she and I share a certain love for a book series and a show based upon it. She played upon that love with this gift.” Hela gets up and passes him the Post-It, almost like an afterthought, as she starts to leave the room. “Tyr, trade out my current throne for this one.  I need to send a message to Leah to give to Stephanie, alert her that _that_ particular debt is paid.”

 

Tyr nods to him as he follows his queen out, and Daimon looks down at the note in his hand. It reads:

 

_Dear Hela,_

_Hey, I know this version of the Iron Throne doesn’t come with a Joffrey. I know you probably want to rip his throat out. Since I can’t send you Joffrey, and by all accounts Jack Gleeson is a good kid, have his chair instead._

_Sincerely,_

_Steph_

He really, really hates his life.

**Author's Note:**

> So, in case you were wondering, this is the chair that Loki didn't understand.
> 
> Due to the nature of how I'm telling aegis, this story didn't fit in to that one, but I wanted to tell it anyway, because this sets up how Steph and Daimon meet in Act 3, and it clarified that Steph is no longer in debt to Hela--protecting Leah is payment for Hela offering the might of Hel to protect Steph, and what paid Steph's debt about the Tanarus thing was not necessarily the chair itself, but the fact that it got Hela to laugh in unbridled glee. She's a fairly serious character, so I thought it would make sense that she would treasure whatever or whomever got her to laugh.
> 
> TL;DR Steph is no longer in debt to Hela.


End file.
